April 13: When I look in the mirror, I see my Mom's face.

Ah, this is difficult. Tomorrow, April 13, is the first anniversary of my Mom's death. I know a lot of people out there who have lost their parents, so I know this is not anything unusual. My Mom was old, she was 96 when she died, she lived a long life and for the last 20 years I think she was happy.  Before that, I believe she had some happy times but not a happy life.

When I look in the mirror, I do see her face. Maybe my brothers see our Dad's face, maybe not, I don't know. None of us have talked about that, maybe no one thinks about it.

As much as I knew it was Mom's time to die, it was so hard being there on that last day. Not to go into details, but I try to erase that span of six hours from my memory card and focus on all the times before that. 

Mom wasn't the best at raising six kids on a very small income. She had a few good moments, like when she made fried chicken or pies, or when she and Dad shared a cocktail before they went out to dinner without all of us kids. She had a lot of bad moments as well and I think both of my parents were unprepared for life, especially with six kids in nine years.

I do not miss anything about my childhood (except that chicken and those pies) but I miss things about the past 20 years relative to my Mom. I called her every Sunday.  Every. Sunday. No matter where I was.  I called her from Paris, Rome, Istanbul, Tunisia, from a small island off the coast of Sicily after Tom and I climbed up an inactive (not dead) volcano and we smelled like sulphur and Mom thought that was amazing. I called her from New York, New Orleans, Montreal, Hanoi, Oregon and Amsterdam.  I loved calling Mom from anywhere not in California because she loved that I was calling her from anywhere not home.  She always asked the same question: "Where are you and what time is it there?"  She delighted in the 5 - 8 - 12 hour time difference wherever I was. 

I miss those calls on Sunday. And I still read something and think "Mom would like this article" and then immediately skip to "Mom would have liked this article."  It's simply so strange that she is gone.  Well, physically gone.  I believe that she's out there somewhere.  Or she's been assigned a new body and is beginning again. Or maybe she's in heaven, like she always wanted to be, seeing her Dad and Mom again. Who knows?

I just know she's gone.  But it's okay. 

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